Upright is Better
by Deana
Summary: Chapter 2: 'Musketeers Don't Faint, They Pass Out'. This is a collection of stories for the 'Aramis Faints' prompt that I found online, so yeah, in each story, Aramis faints! Poor guy!
1. The Scare

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The Scare  
A Musketeers story by Deana

For the 'Aramis Faints' prompt!

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One moment, Aramis was walking beside his friends, and the next moment he found himself lying on the ground.

Rather, his head and shoulders were lying on something soft while the _rest_ of his body was lying on the ground. His head was spinning, and Aramis had a brief memory of that having happened before he unexpectedly found himself in a horizontal position.

"Aramis!" three urgent voices were saying as a hand tapped his face.

Blinking his eyes open, Aramis found his nervous friends hovering over him. "What?" he croaked.

"What's wrong with you?" Porthos asked, with fear in his voice. "What injury are you hidin' from us?"

Aramis suddenly realized that it was Porthos' lap he was laying on and he blinked again, finding that his jacket was off as Athos and d'Artagnan searched him for a wound. He was as confused as they were, and his heartbeat sped up with anxiety. "What happened?" he asked.

"We were hoping you could tell _us_ ," said d'Artagnan, as he patted his hands down Aramis' legs to see if there was a bandage hidden under the material of his pants.

"I'm not hurt," Aramis told them. Even as he said it, he discovered scattered pains throughout his body that had obviously been caused by striking the ground. Suddenly embarrassed, he looked around to see that they were outside the palace but thankfully, no one was within view.

"Men don't faint without cause," Athos said, lowering Aramis' shirt after finding no wound on his chest or stomach.

"I don't know what happened," Aramis insisted.

Everyone looked at him, puzzled and obviously fearful, for Athos was right; there had to be a reason.

Before anyone could say anything else, they heard running footsteps.

"Athos!" Treville exclaimed. "What happened?"

Aramis struggled in Porthos' hold, trying to get up before the captain saw him sprawled on the ground like a swooned maiden.

Porthos tightened his grip and didn't let him.

"We don't know," Athos said as Treville neared them and knelt beside him. "Aramis fainted. He doesn't have a fever and there are no wounds."

"Passed out," Aramis corrected, still trying to sit up. " _Women_ faint; _men_ pass out. Besides, I was wide awake."

"Awake?" said d'Artagnan. "You were _out cold_ the whole time we manhandled you out of your weapons, sash, and jacket."

Aramis had no reply for that.

Treville watched him with concern. "Why did you pass out?"

Aramis shook his head; it made him dizzy. "I don't know."

Treville grasped Aramis' wrist to feel his pulse; it was fast, but not irregular. "How did you feel before it happened?" he asked.

"Fine," Aramis told him.

"Fine?" Porthos echoed. "You were walkin' next to me and then suddenly you were gone. We stopped and turned to look at you, and you were standin' there wobblin' with a hand on your head and then you dropped like a rock!"

Aramis didn't remember. "Well, I felt fine _before_ that."

"What did you eat today?" Treville asked.

Aramis hesitated.

"He _didn't_ eat," said d'Artagnan. "Said he wasn't hungry."

"I wasn't," Aramis replied. "And no, I didn't feel ill."

Treville sighed, studying his musketeer's pale face. "There's nothing you're hiding from us?"

"No."

"Nothing at all? Even the slightest thing?" Treville pressed.

"Nothing, I swear," Aramis said, telling the truth.

"Are you tired?" Treville asked.

Aramis had to admit to that. "Yes...being a musketeer isn't easy, you know."

His quip didn't change any of the concerned expressions.

Treville could see shadows under Aramis' eyes that spoke of lost sleep, and he realized with a pang of guilt that his four best musketeers had been working very hard lately. Treville had seen many soldiers suffer from fatigue, and skipping meals always exacerbated the effects...especially for someone like Aramis, who slept so badly since Savoy. "Take him back to the garrison and feed him," he told the others. "Then I want you to rest, Aramis."

"Shouldn't a doctor look at him?" Porthos asked.

"I've seen this happen before," Treville said, reaching out a hand to Aramis. "And _you_ should know better than to skip breakfast, especially on days that you'll be standing for hours on guard duty. That was very foolish."

Aramis sighed sheepishly at that, saying nothing as he took his hand and was pulled into a sitting position, where Athos and d'Artagnan got his jacket on him again while Porthos made sure Aramis didn't slump backwards. Finally, Aramis was helped up by all four of them, who held on tightly to ensure he had balance.

The landscape spun around Aramis, but that was normal after passing out, so he said nothing.

"All right?" Athos asked him, tightening the grip on his friend when he saw Aramis' face pale even further.

"Yes," Aramis lied, trying to blink the dizziness away.

"Don't make any stops," Treville told them. "Take him straight back to the garrison, no matter what he says."

"We will," d'Artagnan answered.

Aramis was quiet as they gently let him away. Their grips on him were painful, likely adding to the bruises that he'd sustained in the fall. "Ouch," he said.

Everyone instantly stopped walking. "What's wrong?" Porthos asked.

Aramis realized that they assumed that he had some new symptom. "You're hurting me."

Everyone quickly loosened their hold.

"Sorry," d'Artagnan said.

"I'll take 'im," said Porthos, grabbing one of Aramis' arms and pulling it over his shoulders.

Aramis winced. "I don't need that much support, Porthos. I feel fine."

"You also felt fine ten seconds before you were lying unconscious on the ground," Athos commented. "So you'll forgive us if we give little weight to the word 'fine' coming from you."

Aramis sighed at that and let Porthos help him to the palace stable, where he was forced to sit down while the horses were saddled. Once it came time to mount, Porthos assisted him and they all watched.

Aramis felt a little lightheaded, but it wasn't bad. "I'm fine," he said.

The others waited for a moment to be sure that he wouldn't fall off his horse, before mounting and riding out. They kept the pace slow and rode close to Aramis as a precaution, but he handled the ride fine and soon they'd arrived at the garrison.

Porthos helped Aramis dismount. "I'll get 'im to his room; you bring the food," he told the others.

Athos and d'Artagnan wordlessly headed for the kitchen, and Porthos wrapped an arm around Aramis and herded him along.

"I really do feel fine, Porthos," Aramis told him.

"Good," Porthos answered. "But I wanna make sure you make it to your bed without faintin'—I mean, passin' out, again."

Aramis chuckled.

Less than ten minutes later he was comfortably reclining against his pillows while Porthos brought three chairs over to the bed. He sat down and they waited for the others, who came in five minutes later with both of them carrying a tray.

"Serge made you his special broth," d'Artagnan said. "He said that if you eat everything on this tray, you can have the pastries that he's baking for you."

Aramis smiled at that, before frowning. "You told him what happened?"

"Of course," d'Artagnan answered. "How else could we have gotten him to make the pastries?"

Aramis chuckled as d'Artagnan placed the tray over his lap.

"Everything here is yours," he said

Aramis wasn't surprised; he knew that Serge must've been frightened to hear that he'd fainted. He removed the cover to find a large mug of the delicious broth as well as a bowl of hearty stew. It smelled wonderful and Aramis wondered how he hadn't been hungry that morning. There were three biscuits covered in gravy and a beautiful red apple, which Serge knew Aramis could never resist.

The others sat down and they all ate. Aramis finished the broth, stew, and one of the biscuits, but was then too full to eat the other two. Porthos gleefully claimed them and Aramis placed the apple on the nightstand to save for later.

"How are you feeling now?" Athos asked, leaning over to remove the tray from his lap.

"Much better," Aramis told him.

Athos nodded with a relieved smile. "Good; now sleep."

Aramis obeyed, lying flat and closing his eyes. He was asleep within minutes, and the others quietly watched him, noticing that the color was returning to his face.

"Looks like the captain was right," d'Artagnan whispered. "He just needed food and rest."

"It's possible," said Athos.

"You don't agree?" d'Artagnan asked.

Porthos sighed. "This is Aramis we're talkin' about. With him, it's always been hard to tell when he's sick because he hides it so well."

D'Artagnan nodded, not yet knowing the three of them as well as they knew each other.

Aramis slept through the afternoon and woke near suppertime. He felt groggy and said nothing as he blinked his vision into focus.

Porthos was the first to notice. "Hey, the sleepy musketeer awakens."

Aramis replied to that with a yawn.

"How are you feeling?" Athos asked.

"Fine," Aramis answered, pushing himself upright. "Perfectly fine."

Athos studied him and saw that he _did_ look healthier after the forced rest.

"How long did I sleep?" Aramis asked, rubbing his eyes.

"Straight through to supper," d'Artagnan told him.

Aramis was surprised.

"Before you get any ideas, _no_ ," said Athos. "You aren't eating with the regiment. The captain hasn't returned yet and we don't wish him to think that we disobeyed him. You're staying right there."

Aramis saw his point.

D'Artagnan and Porthos went to get the food that time, and brought back baked chicken; Aramis' favorite meal.

"Where are the pastries?" he asked.

"Serge said that you have to eat all of this first," Porthos told him. "And _then_ you get dessert."

Aramis mock-scowled, making d'Artagnan chuckle.

"Do you remember fainting yet?" Athos suddenly asked.

"Passing out," Aramis corrected as he chewed. "And no, I don't."

That wasn't unusual, though all of them would admit to still being concerned.

Aramis noticed how quiet his friends were. "What?" he asked.

Porthos was gulping his drink, and he set the cup on the bedside table with a *plop*. "All right, I'll say it; you scared us to death!"

Aramis frowned.

"Seein' you suddenly just drop like that...for no reason!" Porthos continued. "When we found no wound, no injury to explain it...I almost couldn't breathe. I thought your heart had given out or somethin' and you were dyin'!"

Aramis reached out a hand. "I'm so sorry!"

Porthos reached out and took it, giving it a squeeze.

Aramis looked at the others. "Forgive me."

"Of course, it wasn't your fault," d'Artagnan said.

"Though you _do_ need to take better care of yourself," said Athos. "We all know how eager you are to help everyone else, but when it comes to your own health, you distinctly lack wisdom."

"When you aren't feelin' well, you need to tell us," Porthos said, squeezing Aramis' hand again. "When you stopped walkin' and stood there wobblin', you knew somethin' was wrong and you should've said somethin'."

Aramis sighed. "But I don't remember it happening; I was incapable of thought, it's likely that I was also incapable of speech."

The others nodded, unable to deny that possibility.

"Either way," said Athos. "We're expecting you to be more open to us about your health."

Aramis nodded. "I will, I promise."

Porthos smiled. "Good." He let go of Aramis' hand and grabbed his drink.

Less than an hour later, the door quietly opened and a head poked itself through. Treville sighed with relief when he saw Aramis sitting up awake, and he walked in. "I didn't want to knock in case you were sleeping," he said, walking over to the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Perfectly fine," Aramis told him, holding a half-eaten pastry in his hand.

Treville looked at the others for their opinion.

"He appears to be well," said Athos.

"He ate and slept and got his color back," said Porthos, gesturing to Aramis' face.

Treville looked at Aramis again and sat on the bed to study him before nodding. "Good. Let that be a lesson to you to stop neglecting yourself."

Aramis nodded. "I know, I was already scolded," he said, gesturing to the other three.

Treville looked over his shoulder to see d'Artagnan nodding. "Then I'll leave you in their capable hands."

At that, Porthos gave a menacing laugh.

The others chuckled, while Aramis gave Treville a look of mock-horror. "Captain, _anything_ but that!"

Treville smiled and stood. "Don't come down for muster in the morning. Rest."

Aramis nodded. "Yes sir."

Treville walked away from the bed, and couldn't resist saying to the others, "Keep up the good work."

"Oh, we _will_ ," Porthos replied, cracking his knuckles.

More laughter followed Treville out the door, and he could still hear them after he closed it. As he headed down the hall, Treville sighed with relief that Aramis' unexpected health scare had been only that: a scare.

THE END


	2. Musketeers Don't Faint, They Pass Out

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 **Musketeers Don't Faint, they Pass Out  
** A Musketeers story by Deana  
For the 'Aramis faints on guard duty' prompt.

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Aramis was doomed; he knew it the instant he woke up that day.

Paris was in the middle of an unexpected heat wave, but King Louis had planned a ball and invited scores of people. They would all be arriving that afternoon, and the troupe of musketeers was to stand on either side of the palace entrance as the guests arrived.

Aramis had woken feeling off, and he suspected that one of his headaches was coming...the awful kind that throbbed on the right side of his head that had began after his wound in Savoy. He wasn't hungry at breakfast and only pretended to eat, as his stomach had turned at the sight of food.

"Aramis?"

The sudden touch of a hand on his arm got his attention, and Aramis looked up at his friends as they stood around the table.

"You comin'?" Porthos asked.

Aramis blinked, having not noticed them all stand. "Yes."

"Are you well?" Athos asked, scrutinizing him.

Aramis nodded. "Of course...I was just thinking," he lied.

"That's not good!" d'Artagnan joked.

Aramis stood and followed his friends to the stable, where the whole troupe mounted and rode off. None of the four men were particularly talkative in the excessive heat, so it didn't alarm anyone when Aramis kept quiet on the ride.

Just over halfway there, Aramis noticed a bright spot in his vision that he couldn't blink away, and he saw that his suspicion had been correct. It slowly grew until the right side of his vision was completely obscured by a prism of flashing, shimmering colors, and when he dismounted, he faltered.

Porthos saw and grabbed his arm. "Hey!" he exclaimed with alarm.

"Apologies," Aramis said. "My boot buckle got caught in the stirrup."

"Oh," Porthos said. He had no reason not to believe him, and let go of his arm.

Once standing at attention, Aramis showed no outward sign that anything was wrong...at first. He simply endured the disability of not seeing anything but sparkly colors from the middle of his vision all the way to the right.

The sun beat down on them mercilessly, and each musketeer sipped at a canteen of water kept hidden beneath their cloak when guests weren't entering.

Aramis' stomach didn't feel right, so he drank sparingly.

A sudden nudge got his attention, and since Aramis could see nothing on his right, he momentarily forgot who was there.

"Why aren't you drinking your water?" came Athos' voice.

Aramis had no good answer to that, so he grabbed his canteen. "I am." He sipped a little but his stomach complained, so he simply held it to his lips and pretended to drink it.

Athos was fooled and said no more, especially when Aramis continued to pretend that he was drinking from then on.

Aramis knew how dangerous it was to stand parade in excessive heat without eating and drinking, but when migraines struck him, he couldn't always think clearly. It was something that his friends easily noticed sometimes even before Aramis realized himself that a headache was coming, but on days of 'inactivity', it wasn't always easy to spot.

Eventually, the colors started to fade from Aramis' vision and the pain began. The bright sun right in his eyes quickly made it worse, and sweat dripped down his face from more than just the heat. At one point, he removed his hat and wiped his face with a handkerchief, and was surprised when Porthos elbowed him.

"Put your hat on!" he hissed.

Aramis quickly obeyed, blinking when he realized that another nobleman and his wife were approaching who he hadn't been able to see yet.

"What's wrong with you?" Porthos quietly asked, after they'd passed.

"Nothing," Aramis answered.

Time continued to pass and the pain grew. The colors finally disintegrated completely, restoring Aramis' full vision, but he started to feel weak from the excessive heat combined with not eating or drinking water. His breathing grew labored and the throbbing on the right side of his head intensified.

Athos suddenly raised his canteen to drink, so Aramis did the same. He swallowed a little and it felt so good going down his throat that he gulped some more without thinking. He quickly held his breath as he wondered if he was going to regret it. His stomach felt queasy but most of it dissipated.

"I can't believe all these people came in this heat," d'Artagnan's voice suddenly floated from the other side of Athos.

"Especially the woman," said Porthos. "In all those fancy layers."

"Don't be surprised if someone faints," said Athos.

Porthos suddenly chuckled. "Someone out _here_ might. Those new recruits on the end over there aren't lookin' too healthy. Remember a few years ago, Athos, that really hot week we had, the recruits were droppin' left and right?"

One corner of Athos' mouth lifted slightly. "You placed bets on who would be next."

"It wasn't just me, I seem to recall _you_ makin' a bet yourself!" said Porthos. "And winnin'!"

D'Artagnan looked at Athos with surprise.

Athos inclined his head slightly. "I was slightly inebriated at the time."

Porthos chuckled. "So who do you think it'll be? The one on the end?"

Athos nodded. "Perhaps."

D'Artagnan said, "It might be the one next to him."

"He's a possibility too," said Porthos. "Aramis, who do _you_ think it'll be?"

The voices didn't even sound like a decipherable language to Aramis, so he didn't answer. His vision had turned fuzzy around the edges and his ears were full of the sound of his own breathing. His sweating had decreased to nothing as his body ran out of fluid to excrete and his head was throbbing mercilessly. The landscape suddenly spun around him and he squeezed his eyes shut in distress.

Before anyone had a chance to react, Aramis' knees buckled and his body hit the ground with a thud.

Every musketeer was shocked at the sight, and Athos, Porthos, and d'Artagnan instantly knelt.

"Aramis!" Porthos exclaimed.

"Get him out of here, quick!" Athos hissed, as another carriage pulled up.

Porthos slid his arms under their friend and easily lifted him, hurrying around the side of the palace where no one would notice. He brought Aramis into the shade and sat him against the side of the building, finding him unconscious. "Aramis?" he exclaimed, patting his cheek. "Aramis!"

Footsteps could suddenly be heard, and Captain Treville appeared from a different direction. "What happened?!" he exclaimed. "I looked out the window and spotted you carrying him!"

"He fainted!" said Porthos. "Out of nowhere, he just dropped to the ground without a sound!"

Treville knelt and put a hand on the side of Aramis' face, finding his skin to be hot and dry. "The heat got to him." He reached for Aramis' canteen and frowned when he found it three-quarters full. "Why wasn't he drinking this?"

Porthos shook his head, having no idea.

Treville took Aramis' hat off before opening the canteen and pouring water right over the unconscious musketeer's head. "Get his belts off."

Porthos obeyed, before undoing Aramis' sash.

A moment later, Athos and d'Artagnan came around the side of the palace and joined them. Together, they got Aramis out of his pauldron and jacket, while Treville tried to get some water into him.

Athos took his own canteen and poured water right onto Aramis' shirt.

The water hitting Aramis' chest seemed to bring him around, for he suddenly gasped and squeezed his eyes shut tighter.

"Take it easy, Aramis," Treville said. "The heat is affecting you and you need to drink. Here." He placed the canteen to Aramis' lips and slowly fed him a little.

Aramis wasn't completely coherent and obeyed. Almost instantly, his face paled and he made a sound of distress.

Treville pulled the canteen away and Porthos quickly grabbed Aramis by the shoulders and tilted him to the side, assuming that he was about to be sick.

Aramis slapped a hand over his mouth and breathed through his nose, eyes still squeezed shut. The pain in his head grew and he moaned behind his hand, curling towards the ground as if in terrible pain.

The others watched him nervously. They'd seen many people suffer from the heat before—including themselves and Aramis—but he seemed to be in excessive distress.

Porthos held him up, murmuring words of comfort.

The water in Aramis' stomach managed to stay put, but he groaned again and hung his throbbing head as his hand dropped away from his mouth.

"Aramis," said Treville. "What's wrong?"

Aramis lifted his head slightly, breathing heavily from his body's overheated state. "Headache," he whispered.

Everyone looked at each other with dismay before looking back at Aramis.

"That explains much," said Athos.

Treville sighed. "He can't ride back to the garrison in the sun like this." He looked at d'Artagnan. "Fetch a bucket of water and drench him with it; he needs to cool off."

D'Artagnan nodded and left.

"Can you try a little more water, Aramis?" Treville asked.

Aramis knew that his condition would only worsen if he didn't, so he let Treville feed him tiny sips. His brain continued to send stabbing throbs through his head, and he couldn't prevent himself from groaning again and lifting a hand to it.

Treville sighed. He'd never stop blaming himself for what Aramis had gone through in Savoy, and every time he watched Aramis suffer through one of his agonizing headaches, he was riddled with guilt.

D'Artagnan returned with the bucket of water and looked at them as if not knowing what to do with it.

"Pour it on 'im!" said Porthos.

D'Artagnan hesitated for only a second before he obeyed.

Even though Aramis knew it was coming, he gasped and his eyes opened.

"Sorry," d'Artagnan said.

Aramis was still breathing heavily as his heart and lungs fought his dehydrated condition, and gave no reply.

For the next few minutes, Treville continued to make him drink, until his breathing slowed down and he seemed more alert.

"I'm...fine," Aramis eventually said.

His words were met with three wordless stares.

"Why didn't you say somethin'?" Porthos asked.

Aramis fought not to wince as his migraine pounded to the beat of his heart. "Was fine...this morning."

"Were you?" said Athos. "Did you eat?" It wasn't really a question.

D'Artagnan piped up. "I didn't see him take a single bite."

"You were playin' with your food," said Porthos. He sighed, feeling guilty to have not realized. "Your stomach usually doesn't get involved unless it's really bad."

"The heat probably contributed to it," said Treville. "How are you feeling now?" he asked Aramis.

Aramis sighed, knowing that he wouldn't get away with lying. "Not good."

"Are you still nauseated?" Treville asked.

"A little."

"Do you think you can stand?"

Aramis sighed, knowing that standing was not going to agree with him. "I don't have a choice."

"Of course you do," said Porthos, before he reached over to lift him.

"No!" Aramis exclaimed. He was mortified to know that he'd already been carried once, he certainly didn't want anyone else to witness such an indignity.

"You know that you'll regret this," Athos commented.

Aramis sighed again before holding out his hands.

All three of them pulled him to his feet, holding on tightly when Aramis reeled with dizziness and his knees buckled. The pain in his head worsened, beating like a drum. He groaned and his stomach spasmed, making him clamp his hand over his mouth again.

D'Artagnan tried to lower Aramis to his knees, but the others didn't let him.

"It'll just be harder to get him back up again," Treville explained, tightening his grip.

Aramis groaned miserably and someone let go of him. His hair was suddenly pushed back and a wet cloth was patted over his face and held to the back of his neck.

"Just breathe," said Athos. "It'll pass."

He was right; the dizzy nausea soon calmed and Aramis succeeded in shakily locking his knees. He opened his eyes and looked right into Athos' face.

Athos' expression was concerned, but he gave his friend a rare smile.

Smiles from the stoic Athos always lifted Aramis' spirits—as Athos knew—and Aramis gave him a weak smile in return, squinting from the bright sunlight.

Porthos took charge of Aramis from there, pulling one of his friend's arms around his shoulder and helping him get to the stable where they sat him on a bale of hay.

Aramis sighed in relief to be sitting and leaned back against the wall.

Treville looked at the rest of his men, knowing how worried they were. "I can't let you all leave. The king will likely find out, and I can't excuse all four of you." He sighed. "Louis told me that he plans to put you on display inside once all the guests arrive." He looked at Athos and Porthos. "The two of you and Aramis are the ones who know the most about what he'll expect from you all, and with Aramis out of action..."

"You plan to take him back to the garrison yourself," Athos deduced.

Treville nodded. "It makes the most sense."

Porthos sighed, wanting to be with his stricken friend.

"Go now, before someone notices my best musketeers missing," said Treville.

"I'll be fine," Aramis suddenly whispered. "As always."

The other three reluctantly obeyed, after patting Aramis' arm or squeezing his shoulder.

After they were gone, Treville sat beside Aramis on the hay bale and studied him. "How bad is it?"

Aramis glanced at him and saw the 'you'd better not lie' look, so he told the truth. "Bad."

Treville saw that Aramis still wasn't sweating in the oppressive heat. The bucket of water had cooled him off on the outside, but he still was dehydrated on the _inside_. "Drink," he said, raising the canteen.

Aramis obeyed, taking small sips as not to aggravate his stomach. Moving his head increased the pain and he groaned once he was finished, raising a hand to the right side of his head.

Treville patiently sat with him and continued to feed him the water until he finally saw sweat beading on Aramis' face. "Feeling any stronger?" he asked.

Aramis opened his eyes, still breathing too fast. "A little," he answered, recognizing the improvement in his overheated state.

Treville was relieved. "I know the _last_ thing you want to do is ride, but we can't sit in the palace stable forever and you need some herbs and your bed."

Aramis sighed. "I know." He closed his eyes against the stabbing throbs in his head and tried to gather more strength.

"I'll get the horses saddled," said Treville. He stood and fetched the stable workers, who had both horses ready quickly.

Getting Aramis mounted wasn't easy; every movement he made caused his head to throb even more, as if someone was repeatedly stabbing the right side of his head with an ice pick. Treville was careful as he pulled him up and walked him over to his horse, and he helped adjust Aramis' boot into the stirrup.

Grabbing onto the saddle, Aramis took a deep breath and tried to propel himself up, but his head responded with a stab so sharp that he gasped and stopped. He tried not to voice his pain, but couldn't prevent the groan that passed his lips.

Treville placed both hands on the younger musketeer, squeezing his arm gently. "Slow down, wait till you're ready."

Aramis leaned his head against the saddle, breathing heavily until the flare-up lessened.

Someone suddenly cleared their throat from behind them, and Treville turned to see one of the stable workers holding the steps that King Louis frequently used to mount. He let go of Aramis slowly, making sure he would stay upright, before heading over and taking it. "Thank you," he said.

The servant nodded.

Treville placed it down on the ground and took Aramis' arm again. "Use this," he said.

Aramis slowly pulled his head away from the horse and blinked at it.

Treville was afraid that Aramis' pride might get in the way and he'd say 'no', and was relieved when his good sense won out and Aramis obeyed. He kept hold of Aramis' arm as he walked up the steps, and helped him get situated once he was in the saddle.

Aramis felt off-balance once mounted, and swayed slightly.

Treville kept hold of him until he saw him steady himself, and then he mounted his own horse. "Let me know _ahead_ of time if you plan to fall off."

Aramis tried to give him a weak smile, but it was too hard to do while wincing. "That's _never_ my plan," he answered.

Treville nodded. "Try to keep it that way?"

"I'll try."

"Good."

They slowly rode out of the stable, back into the blinding sunlight.

Aramis raised a hand to cover his eyes, holding the reins in a white-knuckled grip. He felt Treville take hold of his arm, but he didn't stop his horse, wanting to get home as soon as possible.

It was a slow and painful journey; Aramis kept his head lowered with his hat pulled down, trusting his horse to simply keep pace with Treville's. By the time they finally arrived, the pain was worse from riding, and he couldn't dismount on his own.

Treville reached up, holding Aramis tightly as he slowly swung his leg over the horse and stepped down. Once upright, Aramis groaned and leaned his throbbing head against the saddle again.

Treville sighed, hating himself for the role that he'd played in the Savoy massacre. He waited for the younger man to make a move before he pulled one of Aramis' arms over his shoulders and helped him slowly get to his room.

Aramis winced as his head gave an extra throb from the motion of lying down, but he was glad to feel the pillow under his head.

Treville grabbed the basin of water off the dresser and brought it over, dropping a towel in and wringing it out before placing it over Aramis' forehead. "Herbs in the chest?"

Aramis sighed with relief at its coolness, raising one hand to lay on top of the cloth. "Yes; the crushed ones in the jar."

Treville fished it out and poured them into the canteen before gently raising Aramis' head and helping him drink.

Aramis drank slowly, making sure his stomach would accept it. He was relieved when it did, and practically started counting the minutes until the herbs would begin working.

Treville brought a chair over and sat down, dismayed to see how fast Aramis was breathing; that was always an indication of how bad the pain was. "Anything else you need?" he asked.

"No," Aramis answered, eyes closed.

"Let me know if that changes," Treville told him, shifting to get comfortable.

Aramis cracked open his eyes. "You don't have to stay."

Treville gave him a surprised look. "I do if I want to avoid Porthos' wrath."

Aramis smiled slightly before closing his eyes again.

At first, the pain grew worse before it got better. Aramis tried so hard not to keep groaning, but it felt like someone was repeatedly stabbing his head with a knife.

Each groan stabbed Treville's heart. Seeing the young musketeer like this brought back the awful memories of Aramis' slow and painful recovery after Savoy. The pain had been agonizing then and had taken too many weeks to fade...and then the terrible migraines had started. They happened less often as the years passed, but when they struck, they usually knocked him flat.

Desperate to provide comfort, Treville smoothed Aramis' sweaty hair away from his forehead. His hand unwittingly brushed over the scar from the old wound, and he sighed.

Aramis moaned, shifting his head slightly.

"Take it easy," Treville quietly said, smoothing his hair again. "Give the herbs a chance to work."

"More," Aramis whispered.

Treville lifted the canteen to his lips again and helped him drink.

Aramis kept his eyes closed, the wince not leaving his face.

Treville stayed with him throughout the entire day. The herbs eventually helped Aramis' pain enough that he dozed off a few times, but he never slept long.

It was well after midnight when the musketeer regiment finally returned to the garrison. Athos, Porthos, and d'Artagnan immediately headed for Aramis' room, opening the door quietly and peeking inside.

Treville looked towards the door before getting up from his chair and heading over to them. "He's asleep," he whispered.

"Is he better?" Porthos asked.

Treville sighed. "It was bad, but his herbs helped and he's been sleeping for the past fifteen minutes, which is the longest stretch so far."

The musketeers came further into the room, tiptoeing as quietly as they could.

"We can take it from here," said Athos.

Treville knew that his words were a dismissal; Aramis' closest friends wanted to help him now. "Wake me if you need me," he said.

They all nodded at him, and Treville left, hoping that this was Aramis' last migraine attack.

Aramis slept for an hour before he woke, and he was relieved to find that his head wasn't throbbing as badly.

"Hey," he heard.

Aramis blinked bleary eyes to find that it was Porthos. "You're back."

Porthos nodded, reaching over to pour his friend some water. "That's right. How do you feel? Any better?"

Aramis sighed. "A little."

Porthos was relieved. "Good!" He raised his friend's head slightly and held the cup to his lips

Aramis drank thirstily, finding that his stomach felt fine now.

Porthos was glad to see it, and smiled when Aramis drank every drop. "Good boy," he joked. "Now go back to sleep."

Aramis chuckled and obeyed.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next morning, Aramis felt slightly confused when he woke. The night had passed faster than expected and he didn't recall waking after seeing Porthos.

"You look better," said a voice.

Aramis smiled at d'Artagnan, who was sitting in a chair beside his bed along with Athos and Porthos. "I feel it," he said. "The pain is almost gone."

D'Artagnan sighed. "That's a relief."

"The next time this happens," said Athos. "Please warn us before you plan to faint."

"Yeah," said Porthos. "I had no time to catch you!"

Aramis frowned. "I fainted?"

Everyone nodded.

Aramis thought for a minute, before he remembered growing lightheaded with his vision clouding over. "In front of everyone?"

"All the musketeers, at least," d'Artagnan told him.

Aramis covered his eyes with one hand. "Wonderful."

"And you were the only one, too," said Porthos. "I dunno if you remember the conversation, but we were throwing guesses at who would faint from the heat. I asked you for your opinion, and you answered by dropping to the ground like a rock."

Aramis peeked out from under his head. "You're jesting?"

Everyone shook their heads.

Aramis sighed again.

"You should have said something," said Athos. "Treville would have excused you from duty. You only made your condition worse by allowing yourself to grow overheated."

"It wasn't like that," Aramis said.

"You didn't eat," d'Artagnan reminded him.

"My stomach didn't feel right," Aramis told them. "But I didn't have a headache at the time."

"Were you seeing the flashing colors?" Athos asked, sounding like he didn't believe him.

"No," Aramis told him. "That didn't start until we'd almost reached the palace."

No one said anything, knowing that they might not've said anything either by then if it was one of them.

"Well next time, say somethin'," said Porthos. "So I can at least know to catch you when you faint."

"Musketeers don't faint," said Aramis. "We 'pass out'."

"When your brain loses the ability to function, then," Athos commented. "Therefore shutting itself down so you lose consciousness and fall to the ground."

Aramis blinked. "Accurate way to explain it, actually."

"Are you hungry?" d'Artagnan asked, glad to hear that Aramis felt well enough to jest. "You missed breakfast but I'll go get you something."

Aramis nodded slightly. "Yes, thank you."

D'Artagnan nodded and headed out.

Athos and Porthos studied Aramis for a moment.

"How do you _really_ feel?" Porthos asked.

"Much better," Aramis told him. "Truly." He pushed himself to sit up, and they could see that he was telling the truth.

D'Artagnan came back with a tray and they watched him eat. Afterwards, Aramis felt even better and moved to get off his bed, but the others stopped him.

"What do you think you're doing?" Athos asked.

Aramis blinked. "Getting up?"

Porthos and d'Artagnan exchanged glances.

"You were in agony yesterday," said d'Artagnan.

"And you fainted," said Porthos.

"Passed out," Aramis corrected.

"You were severely ill," Athos told him. "It isn't prudent to rise so quickly. If the roles were reversed, would you let one of _us_ up this soon?"

Aramis sighed. "No, but—"

"Well then," said d'Artagnan.

Aramis started to raise a hand to his head in exasperation but lowered it again, not wanting them to think that he was in more pain than he was. "It's obviously not as hot as yesterday."

"And?" said Athos.

"I need fresh air."

Athos rose, walked over to the windows, and opened them.

"That's not what I meant," Aramis commented.

"Rest, Aramis," Athos told him as he returned to his seat. "You know it's too soon; the pain might return if you exert yourself."

Aramis knew that he was right, and gave in.

Treville was at the palace for most of the day, returning in time for supper. He headed to Aramis' room and met d'Artagnan and Porthos along the way carrying trays. "How is he?" he asked.

"Fine, if he can be believed," said d'Artagnan.

Porthos nodded. "He woke much better and eventually wanted to get out of bed but Athos won't let him."

"Good," Treville said. "To both."

Once they reached Aramis' room, Treville opened the door for them and they all headed inside. Treville was glad to see Aramis sitting up on his bed looking well...much different from the previous day. "You're a sight for sore eyes."

Aramis smiled. "I'm nearly fine now, but my jailers won't relent."

"As they shouldn't," said Treville. "Your condition was serious; not just because of the pain, but because you were badly overheated."

Aramis nodded. "So I've been informed...I admit to lapses in my memory."

"Not surprising," Treville said.

"I don't remember much of what happened at the palace, but I remember nearly everything after," Aramis said. "Thank you for your care."

Treville nodded with a smile. "Of course."

All five of them ate together and spent the evening playing cards—even Treville, who stayed long enough for one hand before leaving to get some paperwork done before bedtime.

Aramis slept well and woke feeling like his usual self. No one stopped him from getting up and he was relieved to find that the heat wave had apparently broken. After breakfast, his friends followed him outside and he headed to the stable to visit his horse.

Bella neighed as soon as he walked in.

"Were you worried for me, Bella?" he said, reaching out to pet her.

Bella stepped forward to shove her nose against his stomach.

Aramis smiled and leaned his forehead against hers as he stroked the sides of her face. "I'm fine, see?" he said.

Bella gave another soft neigh.

The others watched with amusement as their friend held a conversation with his horse as if she could understand and respond.

"If she could talk," said Porthos. "She'd be scoldin' ya to say somethin' next time too."

Bella neighed as if agreeing.

D'Artagnan chuckled. "Looks like she just did."

Aramis looked at them. "Of course she can talk, you mean that you three can't understand her?" He looked at Bella. "Isn't that right, my love?"

Bella nickered and bumped her nose into him.

"Yeah, you're makin' her do that," said Porthos.

Aramis turned towards him and held his arms out to the side. "How? I'm not doing anything. You can understand me, right Bella?"

The horse nudged Aramis with her nose and nickered again.

"See?" said Aramis.

The other three exchanged glances.

"Yeah...I'm outta here," said Porthos. With that, he turned and hurried out of the stable. D'Artagnan followed after throwing an uncertain look at Aramis, and Athos followed them too after shooting Aramis an, 'I know this is a trick' expression.

Aramis shrugged at him, looking innocent. As soon as they were gone, Bella nudged him again with a nicker and Aramis turned. "I know, I know; here." He took an apple out of his pocket and fed it to her. "I won't tell them if _you_ don't!"

THE END


End file.
